First post - am I really gonna do this?

So here it is.  My very first post.  For now I'm keeping this thing pretty much to myself since a.) I'm not yet convinced that I will be able to keep up with it and b.) I'm pregnant.  Yep - pregnant.  After 10 months of trying...and trying...and still more trying, I'm finally KTFU.  So far, even the hubs doesn't know.  I just got my BFP this morning - ironically, right before I left the house and my baby-daddy had to whack off into a cup.  I know, I know - TMI most likely.  But we'd gotten to the point with this trying to conceive thing where my OBGYN had us going to preliminary fertility testing before putting me on clomid.  Which for him meant jizzing in a cup and driving it over to good old Magee for a sperm analysis.  For me it was going to mean having dye shot into my vag to see if my tubes and whatnot were all open and clear.


Sidenote: you can probably already tell this is not going to be a blog for the kiddies.  I swear like a trucker and take the lord's (if you believe in that kind of thing) name in vain and I love it.  I'm not gonna stop.  So fuck off, goddamn it.


Anywho, I am a really regular kind of gal when it comes to my monthly "friend" (what satan-worshipping whore ever thought to call it that anyway?!?), plus I've been charting, and I was due today.  So when I still had an elevated BBT this morning, and no blood between the legs, I decided I should just check.  I had one test remaining and stared in amazement when a line...a very, very, very faint line...appeared next to the line that usually just tells me that the test works but you ain't got no baby in the belly.  Again.  But this time...could it be?  They say no matter how faint the line is, if it's there, you're knocked up.  I'm so excited I can't even stand it.  Seriously.


So then came my internal struggle.  Do I tell Italian Boy (This is what I just decided I shall refer to the love of my life as on this blog.  He is Italian - not the off-the-boat-from-Italy kind - the American kind.  Yet he still develops some sort of crazy Italian/mafia accent when he gets excited/angry/generally worked up into a tizzy.  He hates when I call him this and insists he has no accent.  He's in denial, but I love him.) so he was saved from the humiliation of making his special deposit and then driving his man's milk to the lab, or did I let him just go ahead with it?  Because the line was so faint, and because I have kind of been planning on how I want to tell him we're going to be parents for months, I decided to just go ahead and let him do it, just in case.  He's probably going to hate me for that.  Oh well.


On my way to work I made a pit-stop at the local CVS and picked up a fancy package of 2 digital tests (motherfucker those suckers are expensive!) - where it clearly says the words pregnant or not pregnant.  No fooling around with faint lines for me.  After peeing on my second stick of the day - at work, no less, because I just had to know for sure - there it was.  PREGNANT.  Hallelujah!  Sound the bells!  According to my calculations, I am exactly 4 weeks pregnant and am due on March 19, 2011.  Two days after St. Paddy's Day.  I shall call it my little shamrock.  I go for my first doctor's appointment on July 19 to confirm it's really in there.


Thank the universe that we can stop officially trying and just go back to having sex for the fucking fun of it.  I don't think my vag could have taken much more - having relations 5 days in a row during my fertile period made for red, angry lips.  Again, TMI.  But tough shit.